Sarah
Sarah
God has given you a unique destiny. It doesn’t expire after a few bad decisions. It doesn’t evaporate when the timeline stretches longer than you imagined. And it definitely doesn’t disappear just because someone else tries to take your place. If God wrote you into His story, He’s not crossing you out.
Some women are called to big, dramatic missions—Esther saves her people, Deborah leads warriors, Jael drives tent pegs into history. But Sarah’s calling looked different. Her assignment? Be a wife. Become a mother. Trust God even when nothing makes sense. Her story isn’t flashy, but it’s foundational. And while others are sorted into categories—righteous or rebellious, faithful or forgotten—Sarah’s story lives in the tension. She made mistakes. But she mattered. And God made sure we would remember her.
A Journey Interrupted
We meet Sarai in Genesis 11, when her father-in-law, Terah, uproots the family and sets out from Ur of the Chaldeans—a city known for its idols and influence. The goal was Canaan, but they never make it. They stop and settle in Haran. Plans pause. Dreams drift.
After Terah’s death, God reissues the call, this time to Abram. “Go to the land that I will show you,” God says (Gen. 12:1, NLT). No details. No guarantees. Just a direction. Sarai goes too—quietly, without protest or fanfare. Whether she went joyfully or reluctantly, we’re not told. But she went. And that mattered.
Deception and Detours
Not long into their journey, a famine strikes, prompting Abram and Sarai to seek refuge in Egypt. Here, Abram makes a perplexing decision: fearing for his life, he asks Sarai to pose as his sister. While technically a half-truth, it's a move that places Sarai in a vulnerable position to protect himself. Pharaoh, believing Sarai is unmarried, takes her into his palace. But God intervenes, sending plagues upon Pharaoh's household, leading to the revelation of the truth. Pharaoh confronts Abram, returns Sarai, and sends them away, now wealthier but with trauma (Gen. 12:10–20).
Stories like this can make us uneasy, prompting questions about God's justice and the actions of His chosen people. It's essential to remember that the Bible records events as they happened, not necessarily as endorsements of those actions. Just because an event is documented doesn't mean it's approved. Often, the consequences that follow reveal God's stance on the matter.
At this point in biblical history, the Holy Spirit had not yet been given to dwell in the hearts of believers. Faith was guided by direct revelations, covenants, and laws. The structure was straightforward: obedience brought blessings; disobedience led to consequences. With the advent of Jesus, this dynamic shifted. He taught that following Him might bring trials and persecution, but the rewards would be eternal, not just earthly.
When reading the Old Testament, it's helpful to keep in mind that physical events often foreshadow spiritual truths revealed in the New Testament. The tangible experiences of God's people then can mirror the spiritual journeys we undertake now.
Sarai says nothing in the text. But God says plenty—through His protection. Even when Abram’s choices endangered her, God didn’t look away. He preserved her because she was part of His plan, even if no one else seemed to remember that.
The Wait That Wore Them Down
Time passes. Ten years, to be exact. Abram gets promises—descendants as numerous as the stars, land that stretches beyond their eyes can see. But Sarai gets silence. Still no child. Still no fulfillment. So she tries to help things along.
“Go and sleep with my servant,” she says to Abram. “Perhaps I can have children through her” (Gen. 16:2, NLT). It wasn’t unheard of in their culture—but it wasn’t God’s plan. Hagar gets pregnant. Sarai gets bitter. Abram gets passive.
The result is Ishmael—a child born of striving, not of promise. A real child with a real future, but not the one God had spoken of. It’s a reminder to all of us: sometimes we create Ishmaels when we try to make promises happen in our own strength.
Names, Laughter, and New Hope
In Genesis 17, God shows up again. He changes Abram’s name to Abraham, “father of many,” and Sarai becomes Sarah, “noblewoman” (Gen. 17:5, 15). God doesn’t just promise through Abraham this time. He makes sure Sarah knows she’s part of the covenant too.
“I will bless her and give you a son from her!” God declares. “Yes, I will bless her richly, and she will become the mother of many nations” (Gen. 17:16, NLT).
Abraham laughs—can hardly believe it. Later, Sarah laughs too, though her laughter is quieter, edged with disbelief: “How could a worn-out woman like me enjoy such pleasure?” (Gen. 18:12, NLT).
But God hears. “Is anything too hard for the Lord?” He replies (Gen. 18:14, NLT). That question still echoes when promises feel impossible.
The Promise Becomes a Person
A year later, Isaac is born—his name meaning “laughter.” And this time, Sarah laughs without hesitation. “God has brought me laughter,” she says. “All who hear about this will laugh with me” (Gen. 21:6, NLT). It’s the kind of joy that only comes after long seasons of waiting, doubting, and hoping again.
The tension with Hagar and Ishmael doesn’t disappear. Eventually, Sarah asks Abraham to send them away. It’s not an easy moment. But even as they leave, God assures Abraham that He will take care of them both (Gen. 21:13). God doesn’t throw anyone away—not Sarah, not Hagar, not Ishmael.
A Legacy Bought and Buried
Sarah dies at 127 years old (Gen. 23:1). Abraham mourns deeply and insists on buying land to bury her—a small cave in Machpelah. It’s the only land he’ll ever own in Canaan during his lifetime. Later, he’ll be buried there too. In a culture of polygamy and patriarchy, Abraham chose to honor Sarah, not just in life but in death.
She had been his partner in the promise. Not perfect, but present. Not flawless, but faithful.
What God Starts, He Finishes
Sarah’s life didn’t look extraordinary. She wasn’t a queen or prophetess. She wasn’t even always right. But God never stopped including her. He blessed her, renamed her, laughed with her, and fought to keep her in His story. Her role might have looked simple from the outside, but her legacy lives on every time someone believes that God can still do the impossible.
Maybe your life looks more like Sarah’s than Esther’s. Maybe you’ve been waiting so long you’re starting to wonder if the promise was ever real. Maybe you’ve tried to “help” God and now you’re staring at the consequences. The good news is: God hasn’t forgotten you. He’s not finished with you. And you are not out of the story.
Discussion Questions
Have you ever been given a promise by God that took longer than expected to be fulfilled?
How do you typically respond to waiting—especially when it seems like God is silent?
What does Sarah’s story teach you about trying to control or accelerate God’s timing?
Why do you think Scripture includes Sarah’s flaws and missteps instead of skipping to the good parts?
How does it shift your perspective to know that Sarah’s “ordinary” calling was still central to God’s plan?
Do you ever feel like you've been dragged into a season you didn’t choose? What has God shown you there?
What part of your story do you think God is still writing, even if you can’t see the outcome yet?
Where might God be inviting you to believe that nothing is too hard for Him?